“Then let’s go,” he says softly.
We walk across the bridge hand-in-hand, the wood damp beneath our boots and the wind tugging at my borrowed flannel. When we reach the truck, Sam opens the back door for me like the damn gentleman he is and climbs in right after. The bench seat isn’t wide, but it doesn’t matter. We sit pressed together, thigh to thigh, his fingers immediately lacing with mine again like they belong there.
We don’t let go.
Not once on the drive.
Liam’s got the heat blasting and the radio humming low, but it’s the sound of him and Phern bickering that fills the cab.
“Lordy,” Liam drawls. “I know it’s been killing you. No Wi-Fi for a week? How could you possibly stalk Will without it?”
Phern’s cheeks go bright red. “I donotstalk Will! We mutually follow each other on three platforms and occasionally comment. It’s called a digital friendship, you hayseed.”
I cover my mouth to hide the grin, but Sam doesn’t even try. He’s openly laughing beside me, his arm resting casually along the back of the seat like it’s always meant to be there.
“Be careful, Liam Stone,” Phern adds, eyes narrowing. “People in glass houses shouldn’t cast stones.”
“Okay, Grandma Stone,” Liam laughs. “Drink your prune juice and relax.”
I lean in toward Sam, my voice low. “Who’s Will again?”
His grin is amused. “My best friend. Phern had the biggest crush on him when she was ten. Used to write poetry about him. Liam found it and has been torturing her ever since.”
“Ah,” I murmur, delighted.
Liam catches my eye in the mirror. “We were raised like siblings. Teasing is our love language.”
Phern huffs dramatically and cranks the volume. A familiar song floods the cab. Acoustic guitar, a steady beat, and a weather-worn voice crooning about heartbreak and pickup trucks.
I glance at Sam, heart kicking up. “I like this one.”
He raises a brow. “Even though it’s about a divorce and a dead dog?”
I laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I like the feeling of it. It sounds honest.”
Phern glances over her shoulder. “Tell Charlotte how you haven’t written a damn thing since your own divorce, Sam.”
Liam groans like he’s been stabbed. “Read the room, cousin.”
Sam just shakes his head, but there’s no tension in him. If anything, he looks relaxed. “I’ve had a line or two floatin’ around in my head,” he says softly.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, turning more fully toward him, curious.
His eyes meet mine, warm and steady. “I was inspired by some white boots with little blue flowers on them.”
My heart stumbles in my chest.
“You remember those?”
His smile is slow and devastating. “Darlin’, I’ll never forget ’em.”
Liam groans again. “God. Can you two not? I’m trying to drive without crashing from secondhand sexual tension.”
Phern quips, “Maybe if you got laid, you wouldn’t be so uptight.”
The truck erupts into laughter. But through it all Sam’s hand stays wrapped around mine.
We finally roll into Broken Heart Creek.
